I’m now exercising four or five times a week. This compares with about two times a week in the year leading up to my heart attack. COVID had something to do with the lighter exercise schedule — public pools in San Francisco were closed for much of the pandemic. But I also let work get in the way of workouts. During the first half of the year, I was juggling about 25 different projects and professi

A pair of suicides by male employees at a ski resort prompt one leader to challenge the confined masculinity that tells men to bottle up their pain. The man said these words with a shaky voice, and he held up a fist with the middle finger sticking straight up. The fuck-you sign. A message with words, emotion and gesture. His anger was directed at the pressure put on men to suppress emotion, to pre

(Continuation of parts 1 and 2.) Then there’s the soul. And the soul of me might offer a lesson about the souls of men. I surprised myself that dark night I thought I might die. For most of my life, I’ve said nightly prayers, and I’ve had a vague belief that there is some sort of life after death — the product of a Catholic upbringing, Presbyterian church attendance and a yoga practice infused wit

See Part 1 Here I also want to acknowledge how my springy personal safety net has much to do with privilege. I was born into a white, middle-class family, attended excellent suburban public schools, and graduated from an Ivy League university. I’ve been mostly able-bodied, I’ve been fortunate to find meaningful work, and lucky enough to find a loving life partner in Rowena. As a friend pointed out

I had a heart attack on June 14th. It was a mild one, but it scared me nearly to death. In fact, it triggered an anxiety attack as soon as I got out of the hospital later that week. Together, the two attacks knocked me on my butt. They’ve also knocked some sense into me. On things like how many work projects to juggle, how to loosen control over my two teenagers and how to manage a life-long menta